


White Flag

by natalexx



Category: Smallville
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-15
Updated: 2007-01-15
Packaged: 2017-11-29 21:56:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/691907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/natalexx/pseuds/natalexx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lex loved him, yes, but his love would be so much better served from afar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	White Flag

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: for 'Shattered' and 'Asylum' 
> 
> Credit for the title to Dido.

All of Metropolis is spread out below the graveyard. Lionel would have liked that.

But it is for Lex that the crowd has gathered. The CEO and son, the bald man who survived both natural disaster and insane asylum. Everyone wanted to know what Lex Luthor would do next. Everyone wanted to be in on the next rumour spread.

Lex smiled at the crowds from behind tinted glass in the limo as it drove up. The people were held back by red tape and his security force as well as fear of his volatile reputation.

His father was dead. There were no more games of which he was not master. Lex considered himself the leader of his domain. Nothing could touch him now.

*

"Clark. It's been awhile."

Lex opened the door to him himself. Mercy, his personal guard, stood aside.

"Yeah, I've been in Europe." Clark wore dark, neat jeans and when he shoved his hands into the pockets the muscles in his arms stood out. He also wore Lex's favorite blue t-shirt.

Lex let him in. Mercy remained outside when he closed the door.

"I didn't even know about your father until a week ago," Clark said, stopping and turning toward him. "I'm sorry."

"It was very unexpected." Lex couldn't resist a show of teeth. It was so very funny. "Did you enjoy your trip?" Lex has the pictures, and every one tells a vivid if inconclusive story. Clark didn't linger in England or France, though he looked more comfortable while in the Alps. His unscheduled stopover in Africa was more interesting.

"Uh, it was...good, I liked it."

"Got your head ready for college now?"

Clark smiled uneasily, his gaze skittering over the apartment. "I'm going to study journalism."

Lex let his mouth curve into a smirk. "How fortunate that you have such interesting friends." His remark required no emphasis, and Clark got it immediately.

And Clark frowned, but didn't deny it. Fascinating.

"I'd like to hear all about it." Write me a letter. "Perhaps we could plan to get together sometime this week. I'm afraid I'm in the middle of something just now, Clark."

Clark looked at him and, again, got the message. The only thing Lex didn't understand was why he didn't get mad.

"Okay," Clark said quietly, and it was only two steps back to the door. Lex waited, hospitably. "I am sorry about your dad, Lex."

"As am I," Lex replied.

Clark leaned down and kissed him. Lex was surprised, to say the least. They had already "grown apart," as the saying went, and Lex had planned on their acquaintanceship ceasing naturally: lost between his business and Clark's college work. He had not expected Clark to come to him and seduce him. He appreciates the variation. Periodically throwing out major parts of the plan at least keeps life interesting.

*

There is a noticeable absence of shaving products behind their bathroom mirror. They don't buy shaving cream, nor a single razor.

Of course. They are above such petty requirements. Clark might even cut his own hair. Lex has never had visual confirmation of this, but Clark has never been to a barber. His hair is longer sometimes than others, so it must grow.

Arrogant of Clark to assume Lex wouldn't ask about something so obvious. Lex closed the door on the mirror and smiled coldly at his reflection. Clark considered it a sign of grace, a benefit of their relationship.

He thought he was using Lex. He was wrong.

Some men would have called it foolish for Lex to engage in close contact with someone like Clark just when he'd been disencumbered of his father. One thing about Clark, though--he was nothing like Lionel. Any action he took that appeared to be manipulative was done with full denial of that motivation. It was almost cute.

Not that Lex would put up with it indefinitely.

For the stock market, Lex forced himself to either stay up very late or get up very early. He often made the decision based on Clark's schedule. This morning had been the latter, and he'd been downstairs at the office when Clark left for class.

Clark studied a great deal of subjects outside of what was required for a journalism degree. He took a lot of classes on business, and got good grades without Lex's input.

And wasn't it strange that he never mentioned any of this in casual conversation with his boyfriend?

"Mercy." He used the intercom to page her in the outer rooms. She responded in less than two minutes. "Where is Clark now?" he asked.

"His schedule says Science Lit. but he's actually across town at a fire in the warehouse district. The fire department hasn't responded yet."

Lex unlocked his safe, the one he kept in an obvious spot, and took out last week's files. "Wait for him to come back to class and then pick him up." He closed the safe and looked at her. She waited silently, military style. "I want you *waiting* for him in the parking lot at his school."

Mercy nodded briefly. "Why should I tell him?"

"Tell him it's an emergency." Lex said, offhand. He dismissed her with a move of his hand.

"What's the emergency?" she asked. He appreciated the way her voice changed when she was acting in a less official capacity, but he wasn't going to answer her, in any case.

He smiled at her, the one the newspapers liked to call his "Luthor smile." Bitter. "There isn't one."

*

"A good suit can fit like it's your own skin. I understand from my tailor that you could barely stand still for one fitting, Clark." Lex straightened the lapel and collar of the black jacket with precise movements before he started on the bowtie.

"Come on, Lex, cut me a break. I'm doing this for you," said Clark.

Lex smiled at him. "And I do appreciate it." He very carefully did *not* yank on the ends of the tie. He observed Clark noticing and lowering his eyes. Yes, he assumed Lex was angry, and that he had every right to be. Clark was probably saving two young women in a car wreck three blocks from the fashion district at the time of his appointment. Lex couldn't be sure, though; his observer had lost sight of Clark between the two locations. Clark had reappeared at the tailor's with a mere 5 minutes of his reserved time left. He was very apologetic.

"I'd appreciate it," Lex went on after a quiet minute, "if you'd pay some attention to Callahan's discontented wife tonight, as well. Her name is Helene and she'd like you."

Clark sighed a little. He nodded.

Lex smiled and finished. "Thank you." Clark lifted his chin and Lex kissed him. It was a sweet kiss, Clark's tongue drifting in when Lex didn't move past his lips. Afterward Clark smiled back at him like it made everything alright.

"You have a twisted idea of loving someone," he expected Clark to say someday. But he never did. It was a matter of what fell apart first: Clark's naivete or what Clark thought of as his forebearance.

Lex entertained himself with all the possibilities. There were, after all, so few unpredictable entities left for him to play with. Perhaps Clark would finally submit to the sage advice of his parents. Or maybe it would be Mercy, in the end? Clark jealous of Lex's intimacy with such a beautiful woman. Clark's conscience would, eventually, start troubling him if he stayed close to Lex and remained unable to change him. It would be Clark's responsibility, after all, if Lex were unfettered and released on the world. And with his head so full of Luthor schemes and nefarious motives.

It would be so dull if things simply went on until Clark graduated. He had already caught the roving eye of the 'Daily Planet'. Lex Luthor could not be in bed with an investigative reporter--much less a good one. He wondered if Clark knew that, if that was yet another blind spot. It might be an entertaining break-up yet, if Clark didn't see it coming.

Lex loved him, yes, but his love would be so much better served from afar.

"Well. Will I do?" Clark surveyed himself in the full-length mirror. He was the picture of perfection on the outside, and honestly didn't know it.

"Very handsome," said Lex. He followed the lines of the clothes and the hinted lines of the body under them hungrily.

Clark's countenance brightened and he looked even better. "Yeah?"

Oops, made me grin. "Yeah." Lex stepped back to button his own cuffs. Clark was looking at him hopefully.

"Is it okay if I eat before we go?"

Lex nodded. Clark did this before every social event. He would dress carefully in the clothes Lex picked out for him and then sit in the kitchen at the counter island to eat a bowl of cereal very quickly. Lex always followed him out there; sometimes he even ate with him. Clark was beautiful--at his most beautiful--when he did this. His clothes made him look more graceful while he was hunched over his bowl; the Raisin Bran made him seem like the child he almost was. Lex saved up moments like these for afterward, though he didn't like to think of it like that.

"How was your AP Method test?" asked Lex, today, entering the kitchen after Clark sat down.

Clark smiled because he liked it when Lex admitted to paying attention. "Fine, I guess. I faked most of it. They basically just want to know if I'll write what they tell me to once I'm a press reporter."

"The media is a powerful weapon," Lex said dispassionately.

Clark nodded soberly. "But that kind of observation won't pass any tests." He grinned.

Lex shrugged and sat down across from him. Clark offered the box but he shook his head.

"I wrote an essay on that for another class," Clark confided, watching the milk drip off his spoon.

"The media's influence on the public perception?" asked Lex.

"And the misuse therein."

"Really." Lex regrouped. Clark wasn't out of surprises just yet. "'There is nothing so absurd but if you repeat it often enough people will believe it'?"

Clark's eyes softened when Lex said that. "Yes," he murmured.

It wasn't as though Clark's tactics were hard to pick up. "I wonder how that will go over."

Clark shrugged. Lex supposed it didn't matter. He already had the job at the *Planet*; editor Perry White was fond of him. "I'd like to read it."

"Okay." Clark braced himself against the counter and Lex knew what was coming next. "I love you."

Lex looked from the empty cereal bowl to the clench hold Clark had on the edge of the island. "I love you, too." Lex looked forward to the day he wouldn't have to say it back to him.

*

The fifth sequential picture showed Clark facing toward it and waving at the camera. Lex rolled his eyes and tossed the file back to Mercy. "Fire this guy and put somebody else on Clark's apartment."

"Yes, Boss. By 'fire' him, do you mean..."

"Literal fire, yes, Mercy." Lex scowled at her. "*Replace* him. Put him on something less important, but check out his address first. He better not be keeping any of my pictures for himself."

"He's not," Mercy assured him.

Lex stood abruptly. He was being far too irritable this morning. He gathered up the latest reports. "Thank you," he told Mercy when he passed her on the other side of his desk. She did good work, took great pleasure in her professionalism. And she liked him. If she had a less perfect blend of respect and appreciation for him, she would have had something to say about Clark.

His little obsession. Lex threw open the lead reinforced doors and breathed in. The lights came on in order: Clark's face, larger than life, on the flat screen in the middle. Followed quickly by a press shot of Superman: the program scrolling through a selection slowly. Then there was the bridge accident simulation, the Kryptonian codes, the medical reports. Left behind clothes. A database of trivia on Clark and his alter ego.

Lex closed the doors behind him and crossed the room to file his latest data.

He didn't have even a twinge of guilt about this anymore. Not since Clark had turned himself into the flying spectacle. He was just begging to be an icon. And Lex did, after all, have an inbred interest in mythic gods.

He wondered how long it would be before the woman in the pictures noticed Clark was being followed, and how he could monitor that conversation. So far Clark had put up with the surveillance, likely because he didn't know how often Lex was watching him. He'd even become adept dealing with Lex's people, and while Lex was determined to account for all of Clark's time, it didn't matter how many men he put on it because Clark still managed to slip through his fingers. It was becoming a full time job; fortunately Lex had the resources for it.

Clark was good, though. Lex had to appreciate the challenge. There had never been a single photo suggesting Clark's transformation to Superman. Just as Clark had never left anything substantially incriminating behind while they were together. Even the condoms disappeared--if not discreetly, then at least efficiently.

And the way they parted was not Clark's choice after all, but Lex hadn't had the luxury of waiting to be proved correct. Clark was something Lex intended to love forever. It was best to end their association before it got messy, or turned distracting.

Clark had been upset--beautifully so; Lex had the video disc to see it anytime he wished, it was tucked away close to the tremendous scene Clark had caused outside Belle Reve during the period of Lex's incarceration. Perfect boy. Always wanting to *help*. All the while he had no idea, still could never comprehend.

There were weeks, months, and if he adds it all up *years* that Lex spent in an insensible state. Unaware of himself or the world. He managed to overcome therapeutic drugs, sleeping drafts that left him subliminally open, and too many rigged tests labeling his psychosis for even him to tally, and Clark isn't going to affect him after all that.

Though sometimes he sat in his room, surrounded by proof of his obsession, and couldn't tell if maybe, he might have gone a little crazy again.

There were two schools of thought on that question, and Lex was astute on both of them. One said that genius required a little crazy. It was all about thinking outside the box. Which, if one were so inclined to be cynical, was just another definition for using emotion as a crutch.

And the other said pretty much the same thing, but it sounded better. Dedication, order, attention to detail: these were all required for greatness. His motivation, at least, was certainly a *worthy* cause.

Fortunately, Lex answered to no one anymore, so he didn't have to choose a side or tout a party line. He enjoyed that freedom liberally. And he continued to keep his privacy secure for a reason.

It was time for his 3 o'clock and he felt much better. His files were once again current, and he took in the systematic order of his room, as he always did, before he locked it up behind him. No one had ever been in here, but him. This one thing was untouchable, and his. And it was safe because he held it in his mind as well as this room. One could not be destroyed without leaving the other.

Lex rarely fenced anymore; it was such an empty, bourgeoisie challenge. He spent little time on his appearance and his wardrobe rarely required change. He scheduled a massage or an athletic spar or a game of chess when he needed it. He slept and ate precisely, healthy by habit rather than nature.

What parts of him that were not satisfied with business law or money matters or power maneuvers and their rebuttals, he devoted to Clark.

It was just what he'd always wanted.

*

No one ever saw Superman this way. It was dramatic--and more than that, fascinating--because Lex had never seen Superman anything but perfectly coiffed. His look now was undone: hair long and tangled because it was soaking wet, and his skin actually looked clammy, like the cold wind was *affecting* him. Lex has never objected to Clark's beauty, but he spends a lot of time trying to make him uncomfortable as well, so Superman voluntarily showing up on his balcony this way is the best kind of Christmas present, though it's not the season for it.

It made Lex want to spread the hero out on his desk and lick the cold skin about the collar of that wet uniform and rub and rub against him until his own very neat workspace is like an island of dripping computers and disheveled paperwork.

"If you keep doing this, you are going to seriously hurt people, Lex," Superman said, while water trickled down his forehead into the corner of one eye. He brushed it away and folded his arms. For once, the gesture made him look more vulnerable.

Lex was not inclined to speak. Superman, after all, was the uninvited guest here. He shouldn't require Lex's help to say whatever he wanted to say. Not that Lex would have missed this moment for the world.

"I don't understand why you keep doing this," he went on, upset--*visibly* upset! Lex smiled slowly.

"I don't ever want to see you in Belle Reve again," said Superman.

It was a sharp blow, and Lex became instantly furious. "That makes two of us," he said in an even tone. There were very few people left in the world who really understood what had happened to Lex in Belle Reve.

"If you'd just let me..." His voice shuddered in the wind. Lex's eyes were glued to his face. There were many things he disliked about face-to-face interaction with Superman--or Clark. But watching the interchanging faces never lost any appeal. "I've *warned* you, Lex," he finally snapped, with the persistence of a child.

"Aren't you supposed to call me Luthor?" replied Lex, raising his voice only to compensate for the weather.

He watched Clark's jaw twist. "If you keep doing this," he said, fighting every word, "I will stop you." His eyes met Lex's, steady and sorrowful. The thing he hates *most* is how well Clark thinks he knows him, when he really doesn't know him at all.

"You can try." Lex resisted the impulse to bring up Clark's notes--but just barely. They were a source of irritation for him, but he didn't want Clark to know that. It frustrated him that Clark kept doing this. As if he'd asked him to taint his flawless credibility by tipping off Lex when his projects had a weakness. "If you want to," he added simply.

"I can't protect you forever," he said, ever the insolent and almighty. An entire book of cutting retorts ran through Lex's head. And then Superman reached for him.

"*Don't* touch me," he hissed, snapping backwards in a move that jerked his spine.

This was what Lex hated: with everyone else, he was reasonable and diplomatic, and every time he saw Superman, he made himself strict promises to stop being emotional about him. It was an impossible dichotomy--hating the reality of his most beloved idol. He wouldn't *let* Clark take that away from him. The time; the patience he'd put into it. It was something to hold on to, through all of this.

"Why bother," Superman whispered, curling his hand back into his chest as though he'd broken it. He looked out at the rainy sky; at last, maybe he'd leave. "I can't reach you, regardless."

*

Lex hadn't run a press conference in years. He considered it unnecessary in business, and unwise in science. But in politics, it was an institution. There was no changing that.

Every reporter in the room looked thrilled and not bothering to hide it. It was a big story; Lex knew that without any modesty. It was also important that he get it right. That was why he was sitting here behind Mercy's hand-picked task force, studying Dr. Swann's math on the projected position of Krypton for the sake of calmness. It was annoying to be forced to wait. He would change that--the sooner the better.

Mercy wanted to put her protege in charge of the Clark detail. Code name Hope, female, and according to Mercy very good. Mercy intended to retain supervision of the Superman surveillance; Lex privately thought she had her own obsession to deal with when it came to him. Her dislike of the flying wonder burned with a bright flame. In her mind, Superman and Clark Kent were divorced. He had no doubt she'd love the chance to use her Kryptonite gun. She thought Lex felt the same; he let her.

Clark was here, just beyond Mercy's tight protective circle. Mercy was, herself, standing near enough to pick up Clark's conversation with Lois Lane. Mercy had a definite fondness for voyeurism that he approved of wholeheartedly. He was eager to hear what she learned by eavesdropping today.

It seemed out of character for Clark to date Lois Lane. Lex didn't really believe in change, but the popular application of self-delusion was one of his most useful tools. It just burned him that Clark would fall into the love trap. That of all the million other things Clark trusted foolishly, he would do something *this* mundane. Lex ran into them, together, at many events now. They worked well together, canvassing a room efficiently--effortlessly. Looked good doing it, too. It was no wonder they were building a reputation. Lex's new work required him to deal with them. Often; almost constantly. It was one of the more challenging aspects of his work. Not because of Clark, though Clark's presence irritated him like a bad seam in tailored trousers. But as a pair they were smart, and they weren't won over by his charisma.

A brief thought to seduce Lois Lane had been quickly discarded upon learning she was secretly fixated by Superman. Why trade one valid weak spot for another? He wanted to hurt Lois Lane, sit back then and see what Clark did about it. What would finally make Clark snap? If he applied just the right amount of pressure...touched on the right combination of volatile emotions, maybe increased the amount of messy clean-up work. Everybody had a boiling point. And approached at just the right moment, too, Clark wouldn't be able to diffuse it. Lex remembered the way Clark's eyes ignited fondly, the clenched fists and sharp lines from the bones in his jaw. All that power just begging for liberation.

Lex took the lectern and looked past Clark, observing his expression and the way Lois Lane leaned into him without looking at them directly. Mercy didn't try to catch his eye. "Good morning, ladies and gentlemen," he said, and wrote a note in the margin of the paper in front of him: *Give Mercy bonus*. "Let's get right to the big announcement, since you all already know what I'm going to say." He paused to mark the occasion. "Yes. I plan to run for president in the upcoming election."

Hands popped up all over the room. He pointed. "Mr. Keagan, I believe."

Mr. Keagan stood up, looking surprised. "Yes. 'World Focus'." Sometimes researching Clark had fringe benefits. "Excuse me for skipping past the specifics of your platform for the moment but my question is, isn't it true that you have a notably adversarial relationship with Superman and do you then truly believe the American people will vote for a man who is considered anti-Superman?"

Lex smiled slightly. "I would not label myself an enemy of Superman," he stated firmly. "I readily agree that Superman has proven himself a great asset to this country and to the American people in the past, but I also can never and will never trust his motives to be consistently in the best interests of a country where he is not even a legal citizen. Superman has unregulated power, and I don't believe it is the government's role to take him on faith."

He had their attention now.

He didn't look at Clark. Sometimes reactions weren't unpredictable at all.

*

They put him in a box at Belle Reve. He was caged like an animal, drugged. They opened his brain and looked at it and thought they knew what he was based on that. They imprisoned his body but worse, they imprisoned his mind. He had no clear thoughts that he can remember. He doesn't know what else might have happened to him there. His father, Claire Foster, Clark: they are all related, in elusive parts of his head just as much as in a more tangible setting. He knows now that Superman keeps Claire Foster living a comfortable lifestyle, somewhere safe and secret that Lex would have to cross a line to find, even for the sake of closure.

Lex does not dream. Because he does not fear what will come to him from unconscious places. He wishes he *did* see things, images floating up from the recesses of his mind, like the pieces he is still missing.

Instead he woke up like this: breathing hard and steady, as though he'd been running or fucking. In the moment before his eyes open he sees a barbed wire fence that he cannot leap, and then. This. Doubting.

What if--

But, no. It couldn't *all* be desperation. Lex wasn't like that. Lex accepted and ignored certain facts, certain feelings and--damnit--emotions, but it was deliberate. Fear no longer existed on his radar, thanks to Lionel for that. Fear was not a reason to do or not do anything. Ambition was a useful commodity. Love existed where he said it did, and how he wanted. His past, his dark and dangerous youth and the parts beyond his control, it all had its place and it was kept there. These methods had *worked* for Lex.

But he was beginning to wonder if Clark was Superman after all.

He has papers, he has looked at them incessantly every night for the past week. Transcripts: Lex Luthor insisting Clark Kent wasn't human. One day: that first day only. Afterward, the drugs kicked in, and on paper his rambling got even more illogical. Lex thinks he remembers this--something he knew, a moment of *truth*--but he doesn't. It's just this feeling he has always had, that Clark is...something else. 

But what if--

No. It wasn't possible. Lex knew what he always had known. He has lived with Clark. His theory was never proven *wrong*, but it was never proven exactly *right*, either. And that's not very scientific. Well, it would fly under the current standard of science, but Lex was a purist. He wasn't going to live his whole life believing a lie.

He has plans. He is going to be President. That's not even the height of his ambition, either, but he's not going to go to the Oval Office not even knowing the truth about *Superman*. Definitely not under the delusion that he does know, if he doesn't. No--that would be dangerous. Truly dangerous, not like drugs, and if that was what he needed, he had to find out. He'd sworn every day for the last decade of his life that he would never medicate, by force or by self, never again. Clark isn't a delusion, no; that's what Lex has been staying *away* from.

No. He knows. He sees things more clearly than anyone he can point out, and if he is obsessed with Clark or with Superman, it is an obsession he has cultivated and carefully outlined.

He had a hypothesis, and if he has not ever proved it beyond the measure of a doubt he has still come close enough for modern science.

He knows. He has always known.

And then he could go back to sleep, telling himself it was not false confidence.

*

There was a good reason why every president had come out of office looking 20 years older than when he went in. Lex thought he was preternaturally disposed for the job because of his early baldness, and despite the presence of Superman or maybe even because of it he intended to do the best job anyone had done in the past decades, and be loved doing it. He intended, in short, to be the president his father would have *hated*.

"I do solemnly swear that I will faithfully execute the Office of President of the United States, and will to the best of my ability, preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United States."

D.C. is a long way from Metropolis, but Lex left Hope in Kansas to stay current on his Clark habit. Clark was still the only thing he did to relax.

"The key," he said in his highly anticipated one-on-one interview with Lois Lane, "is to never think you have to be doing something unimportant in order to take a break."

She laughed pleasantly. "That doesn't make a whole lot of sense to me."

He gave her an enigmatic smile. "I guess that's why I'm president, and you're not."

"A lot of people still question your attitude toward Superman, a national hero. Some people call it jealousy. What do you say to that theory?"

"I think, first of all, the fact that the American people elected a man called the Anti-Superman makes a lot of those questions obsolete." The cameras were still rolling, but he said it anyway. "I can tell from your eyes that it means something personal to you."

Superman was *always* her trigger. "Well," she said, her voice and expression straining for something nonpartisan, "since we're on the subject. As one citizen to her president, my personal opinion is that you've forgotten to look past the persona to the person."

"On the contrary, Ms. Lane," he responded amicably. "I never stop thinking about the person. The problem is, this country doesn't *know* the man behind the uniform. Who is he? Is it safe for him to control so much with so little qualification?"

"If this were a debate, sir, I would point out that if he was born with the power, we have no right to say it doesn't *belong* to him."

"That's a philosophical or religious question, Ms. Lane," he said sternly. "And it is secondary to my concern, which is that Superman, despite probably having good intentions, and despite the support of a great number of people around the world, may not be the best man for the job he handles."

"You'd like him to prove himself worthy?"

"Something like that, yes. Here in America, we use a system of checks and balances. Why should Superman be immune from the rules set up for our government?" He glanced at the camera. "Who's to say, in the end, his interests aren't as selfish as anyone else's?"

When the cameras stopped rolling, Lois Lane slumped in her chair and kicked her heels so far across the room he doubted she ever wanted to find them again. "Look, Luthor," she said, her voice back to it's familiar brassy tone, "I don't like you, but you're our president, and I respect the job you're doing. I'm saying that now, to clear the air." And he granted her a handshake.

She pulled back and gave him a look that was far from friendly. "I also think that if you were the man you present yourself as being, you never would have let Clark walk. But that's just it, isn't it? You're big picture, and me, I let the people tell me about the issues that personally affect them."

Lex smiled slightly. "You seem to base your opinion of me on your dislike of my personality. It's fortunate that I'm not in the habit of doing the same."

She paused. She shook her head slowly. "Sure. But you know how you dislike Superman so much for not being a real person? I'd like you a whole lot better if you proved you actually were. Facing up to Clark would be a start."

Doing what Lois Lane wanted rankled, but she was right in her own way. And it had been too long since Lex had seen Clark in person. Clark had changed little over the years. He had not changed at all in physical appearance, nor had he modified his ideals or superheroics. He *had* finally obtained the love of a dark-haired woman, Lois Lane--she had sent Lex to Clark not for her own lofty ideals but because she felt Lex was keeping them apart in some way. And yet, Lex wanted to see Clark for himself. He grew tired from his many duties, and from the wake of his re-election campaign. Clark breathed new life into him, jolting him out of the mundane details and the superfluous emotions of life.

"Happy New Year, Clark," he murmured when Clark opened his door.

"Lex, what are you doing here?" His gaze was narrow. Lex waited patiently while his gaze flickered over the big men in suits behind him. "Mr. President," he corrected himself dutifully.

"I was told to pay a visit by a mutual friend." That was stretching the truth a little, but he needed to get in the door at least. "I suppose we can leave my security outside the apartment?"

Clark made a noise of controlled irritation and stepped back so Lex could come in. The door swung shut behind him and Lex had to pause for an encounter with unexpected emotion. Clark's apartment. He'd never been in this one. He could still see Clark wrinkling his nose and complaining about some of the places his college mates lived: "low-rent, high-infestation," he said. He said he could never live somewhere he wouldn't want his mother to visit him. "I'm glad I don't have to worry about low-brow living quarters with you," he'd laughed.

This apartment was nice. Clark had worked at it and at the way it appeared, he could see that. Lex hadn't expected it to look so much like--Clark.

"Was there something you wanted?" Clark's tone was not unpleasant, just guarded. Lex turned to him, and deliberately scanned his clothes: t-shirt and pants, not jeans. Neat but relaxed. Clark *had* changed. In ways Lex had skimmed over the past few years, far too busy to go seeking out the details he found most fascinating.

"I saw your interview. Articulate, as usual."

"I didn't come off too passionately?" Lex let his mouth quirk slightly. His advisers were always telling him he looked too intense on TV, not that Clark would know that.

Clark took a breath. "No," he replied on an exhale. "Congratulations on the re-election, by the way."

Lex inclined his head. "And condolences on your candidate losing."

Clark looked at him, then sighed again. "I assume you had an important reason for coming here. Taking time out of your busy schedule and everything."

Lex sometimes wondered which of them had the busier days. He'd never reached a satisfactory conclusion to the question. "Thought I'd...catch up with an old friend." He was careful to say this with a straight face and he watched the frown bloom across Clark's face. The skin above his cheekbones reddened and he bit one full lip. He was beautiful. It was almost a waste, arguing so distantly with him like this.

But Lex didn't trust himself enough to have Clark in his bed again.

"You're being cruel, Lex," Clark said.

Lex shifted his weight and looked as innocent as he ever had been. "It's come to my attention that most of the people who really know me, don't vote for me. There's something inherently tragic in that, don't you think?"

"What do you care?" Clark cut in. "You've already been elected again."

Lex smirked. "Yes, but I have just 4 more years of leading this country. You don't think I'm going to stick with the status quo, do you?"

Concern flickered in Clark's eyes.

"So tell me, Clark. What could I do to make *your* country a better place?"

Clark sniffed. He gritted his teeth and clenched his fists and looked away.

Lex just waited, because he wanted to know what Clark would say.

Clark finally turned his head back and stared him down. He needed more provoking. "What things are important to you?" Lex used his politician's voice. "The right to free speech. The right to privacy. Just what things do you encompass in that phrase 'the American way'?"

Sometimes the way Clark reacted was almost funny, like watching a bomb in a cartoon. The words "he's gonna blow!" ran through one's head.

"Did you think I didn't *know* you called me a liar every time I told you I loved you? I'm not *stupid*, Lex. I knew telling you my secrets wouldn't fix anything." Clark cocked his head. "And yes, thank you, I *have* been wanting to say that for a long time. What, were you bored tonight? You thought to yourself, 'oh, I'll go see what Clark's doing; I haven't ruined his night in person for *such* a long time'?"

Boom, Lex thought to himself. Ka-blooey. Such a perfect explosion, beautiful in it's symmetry. He smiled. "Clark. Really. I don't have the luxury for that kind of pettiness."

"Oh, I know. That's why I think there's something else going on here. Something that, as usual, you think I'm too stupid to get. Don't you ever get tired of this?"

"I think you might have a bit of a complex about that intelligence thing, Clark." Lex grinned.

"Yeah." Clark stepped back. He was ready for Lex to leave now. His eyes were shadowed, though not yet visibly hurt.

But Lex still wanted to bring up Superman. "Does she know, by the way?"

Clark paused. "About you and me?" He was being deliberately obtuse. Lex felt the slow burn deep in the bottom of his chest flare and bank, and he felt that old craving again. The day Clark can't make him feel this way is the day he will take him back. He dreads just that. It's the only inevitable event he's ever tried to push back.

There is no such thing as reprieve. Relief is for the weak and those in denial.

"No," he said with a smile. He can see Clark try to read him, and fail badly. "But if you want to bring it up." Clark's gaze was fixed on him, angry but not *just* that. It was longing: maybe not for the same thing Lex wanted, but in the same direction.

"You know what I think about that," Clark said obscurely.

Idiot, Lex snapped, in his head but just barely. He had been baited by better than Clark.

"Your thoughts are not hard to decipher," Lex agreed. He enjoyed the freedom to be cruel. So many times he'd wanted this while they were together, but he'd always known it was a choice, one thing or the other.

Clark's return smile absorbed his cold and spit it back at him. "Yes, my thought processes are simple and jejune compared to yours, I'm sure. There are things that are important to me, things I think should last and that I think are worth fighting for. And I find it so bizarrely easy to brush off what I consider superfluous to that."

On principle, Lex cannot be lead. He won't go down this road. It will only lead to the same argument Lex has successfully avoided for 15 years. "One man's superfluous is another man's attention to detail," Lex said dismissively.

Clark paused and seemed to straighten without being deliberate about it. He looked down at Lex with something irritatingly close to pity. "I'm not the one who's been calling you wrong all of these years," Clark said softly.

Lex smiled bitterly, mostly to himself. Well that much, as a matter of fact, was true.

*

Lex's feelings about Lois Lane were not jealousy. He was far too smart and self-aware for that. Lex, of course, maintained a long and understandable dislike for psychiatry, and was scrupulously careful to avoid coming under the influence of anyone in that profession. He was practically skilled and highly motivated at policing himself. For instance, he well knew that years of conditioning and agony kept him tightly under control.

It was wearying, true. But the burden of cognizance was one he had determined to bear. He had the novel advantage, as an ex, of staying in the loop on Clark and Lois' relationship. The amount of money he wielded went a long way toward making every situation better than it was.

So he knew their argument was--oddly enough--about Lex, though nothing he could have appreciated. Then Clark took Lois somewhere, someplace that was important to him and her and to their future, some place that would be life-changing one way or another. And there Lex's knowledge came to an end, because Clark took only Lois. He was too fast or too clever for Lex's spies. Years of waiting, and this was all Lex would get. Clark told Lois his secrets. And all she had to do was insist.

Maybe he took her somewhere quiet and very, very private. Like the upper atmosphere. Perhaps he'd gone so ironic as to take her to the top of a skyscraper. Given her the city.

Or--it was rumoured that Superman had a home in the Arctic. There was never anything substantiated.

There was even his family's rebuilt storm shelter. It was obviously symbolic of something.

There was something she *knew* now, that it simply wasn't fair for her to have been told.

Of course Lex has *known* there's something incriminating to be found somewhere. And it's just like the Kents, overtly secretive and sweet about it, to keep something so valuable on their property. He's suspected for a long time, but never thought it a necessary risk to actually go there, seeking it out. He hadn't stepped foot on the Kent farm in years.

Too many years, maybe. He doesn't like to think that it might have been fear keeping him away. His anger is a weapon that he is a master at handling. Like an electric charge which is only primed temporarily, he does not release his temper without satisfaction. His anger is aimed at his own throat. It is a safer and more certain target than his heart.

Melodrama, he has decided, goes hand in hand with dueling oneself at sunrise.

As president, he cannot afford to be caught trespassing. But the Kents have a lot to lose should they turn him in. It's as simple quid pro quo formula, like foreign policy.

And if it is not there, he simply intends to check every place the secret might be. Freedom is an illusion, but he won't hold desperately to a raft as it sails farther out to sea.

Lex wished for a golf club to smash his windshield. A larger meteor than the one set in his ring with which to mark Clark's perfect face. He kept driving. He thought of nights when he spoke love into Clark's body and used his days to say the words in language Clark expected. Entire years of faking a mutual goal, a relaxing on the other's dependence, years that went by faster than even he could have predicted. Meanwhile the winter sun in Kansas set at exactly 5PM outside Lex's windows.

He stopped the car in the middle of the countryside, after missing his exit on purpose. This one thing, discovery. Revelation. He can't do it. Just as he never would have taken Clark as a lover if Clark had not come to him, he cannot violate him--them--like this.

Except when weighing Clark's invulnerability against Lex's empty catalog of reasons to carry on, there was no other recourse. Lex turned his car around. He did not think about Clark on his way back to the Kent farm. He thought about honesty. The pure righteousness of honesty, a virtue no one could discredit. Least of all Superman.

He thought about the rights of human beings, even one born, as he'd been told all his life, without divine favor.

He did not think about need. Because he did not *need* this. His decision was not emotional.

He laughed out loud when he thought this. Too experienced at being honest with himself to stop so easily.

He did not worry what he would be without his love for Clark.

He did not.

The rest of the safety measures were taken without second guessing. He approached the farm on foot. He remembered the path in the dark and had no desire for a flashlight.

There was a time when Lex did not believe in faith, even as an academic possibility. Faith was not for Luthors, and he thought that by very declaration, that made it truth. Eventually he realized the paradox in that--the very circular reasoning he'd followed all his life without even noticing. Then for awhile, in Smallville, he even thought that faith might be for him. It was a painful lesson he doesn't like to think about, except at times when he's being stupid: like this. Everything works out, more or less, for some people. They were loved by the right people, and never questioned it. They lived in blissful ignorance--not because they chose not to notice but because they really had no idea. They got the right job, and found favor with their employer or coworkers. They understood what they liked right away, and went after it. They didn't have to work at enjoying their skills. They appreciated what they had and worked to make it better. They *knew* what would make it better.

Lex wondered, now, suddenly, for the first time, if he used to know or want any of that. If it was lost in the shock therapy maybe. Or if it had been bred out of him. If his father's child-rearing methods had one long-term goal of retarding him in exactly that area.

It was so easy to approach the final threshold. Just simple steps, and he's there pulling open the cellar doors. The lock is--not an issue, though before he breaks it open in 4 manageable steps he notes that it's rigged with more security than the Kents ever had before. He feels his own fingers slide in the invisible grooves Clark's hands have left.

He does not pause before he goes down the stairs. There is no time to waste. He's set himself on this path, and he's unstoppable. He cannot even stop himself.

There is no light at the bottom, and he--has no flashlight. He left it in the car. And he has no idea where the light switches are. Or if there is one. There was no way to know. For just a moment he thinks he might have done this deliberately: not thought about this potential problem. But, no. There is a light on his key chain, small and powerful enough to illuminate a cellar--in fact, specifically advertised for just that purpose. Because Lex Luthor does not forget...anything. Ever. Wishing doesn't count if he won't let it.

There should be more pomp or ceremony to this occasion. But that will come later.

Lex turned on the light.

It was too bright to see by for several long moments. He could take in only the impression of a tall stack of paper--information, his hungry mind supplied--on a desk nearby that he'd barely missed running into.

And then when he could see, his carefully protected psyche almost couldn't tell him what was in front of him. It did not immediately occur to him what this meant.

In Lex's opinion it was never love itself that was the compromise, and it appeared that Clark thought the same thing. There was more material here than he'd ever seen in his own PR department: publicity and gossip and candid aerials he didn't remember. His name was--everywhere. His life was on the table.

He knew he was there at the same time he was startled, and Clark was simply standing in front of him with folded arms and a heavy countenance. "Lex. You aren't supposed to be here," he said, his voice falling just short of Superman's strict tonality.

Lex stared at him. He--had a right to be angry. But he could not find the energy to be original. What was a good fight without a surprising angle?

"You--aren't supposed to see this. You were never--" Clark's voice was beyond frustrated, laced with pain. He followed Lex's gaze to the books and projects on the desk as though Lex had stolen them from him. His eyes were strange and he looked abandoned. The golden boy, the man who thought the world was basically a good place with good people. The one so different from Lex, so completely opposite that Lex thought it impossible for him to ever understand...and yet he wore the expression Lex always saw on himself, in the mirror.

He's been so--stupid. His whole entire world view, maybe skewed by asylums and a bad father and his own ruthless and calculating personality but mostly just--just stupid. *Stupid*, making his decisions based on the worst margin of probabilities, finding safety there.

Lex flinched, looked away. He was getting caught up in the moment. Clark had shocked him, but it was simply new data. No one thing ever changed the world, or even how you looked at it. He opened his mouth, and discarded all three things he thought to say because he didn't have the desire to say any of them.

He turned away. He could leave Clark here (he doubted that he would chase him), in doubt and confused. It was mean but it'd leave both of them thinking of the other.

Lex glanced at the evidence of Clark's obsessive streak, paused in his step and wished he could look it over more closely. He liked that Clark found him so fascinating. Because, well, he'd worked hard to be just that.

"Lex--" Clark's voice came hesitatingly from over his shoulder. "Is it so wrong?"

Lex looked. Clark stood mostly in shadow, highlighted in the faint blue lamp turned on over the desktop. Clark just waited. Wistful from every pore.

"It's deviant and extremist, Clark."

Clark blew out a deep breath through his nose and his eyes flickered away, then back. "I know."

Lex snorted. "You're a psychotic just like I always said, *Super* man."

Clark scowled, and he looked really angry--angry like if Lex were less a Luthor he would be wise to get away from the situation immediately. Instead Lex turned back to him. "You're blurring the issue, Lex," he gritted out.

"What issue is that?" Lex deliberately cast his gaze across the desk, then jerked back. His resolve again faltered, surprised at how much he could see--how much he didn't want to see it.

"The issue that I *love* you, Lex, and you don't--" He stopped short, and his hand rose just for something to look at. "I love you, Lex. I do. You know, do I get to do that? Do you get to decide that it's not true, just because you say it isn't?"

"This is love?" Lex cast a disparaging nod in the direction of the collection.

"Yes," Clark said sternly. "It is."

Lex gave him a skeptical look.

"What, you think there's something brave or noble about ideal love? A love that never touches or interacts or suffers--"

"Save me the melodrama, Clark. I gritted my teeth through every 'I love you' you ever made me say." The words left his mouth with a sharp sting on the back of his throat. Any moment now, Clark would be forced into recanting. Lex watched Clark's eyes burn with old pain.

His voice was scratched. "Right, Lex. I know. I guess that's why I let you dump me without protesting."

Lex scoffed. "You protested."

Clark ignored him. "I couldn't stay with you like that, but it doesn't change how I loved you. And it *doesn't* mean I wouldn't jump at the chance to be together again. But I guess that will never happen. That was always up to you." He swallowed. "You can't think it doesn't affect me," he said quietly. "Knowing. I--wanting you. Wanting what we never had, probably never *could* have except that sometimes I think we always wanted the same things and you just--couldn't believe in us. I guess that's what kept me holding on. Maybe it was wrong." He abruptly spun and started making a messy pile of the books and files and papers on the desk. "But you can't take this, none of it. Because no matter what, my feelings belong to *me*."

Lex knew all about being convincing. The voice in his head was petulant, hollering: "You're not reaching me!" Because he was not convinced. He was not.

Clark sighed and dropped the fight without warning. "That's not right, either," he admitted quietly to himself, and looked from what he held, back to Lex reluctantly. "Feelings always involve someone else. We don't live in a vacuum, Lex...I can't live that way. Here." He shifted his burden and tried to dump it in Lex's arms. Lex couldn't say no; he was disoriented and wanted too much at the same time. The books were like a scrapbook of himself, and they were heavy and awkward in his arms. He had lived a full life--there must be a million pictures from media outlets alone. He wondered if Clark had all of them. If he had been *that* dedicated. It seemed unlikely and unrealistic and asking too much.

And Clark never asked as much as Lex did. He hadn't moved. Lex stared at the hand on his bicep like it was an abstract concept. "Get your hands off of me," he said. It was almost, but not quite automatic. He knew he didn't want Clark touching him, even if he couldn't feel it.

Clark didn't move. His face was soft and far too open. Such an easy target.

Yes, Lex knew all about being convincing. He knew when people wanted to be convinced, too. He considered it weak and unworthy to speak one argument and mean another. It was time to make a decision. Something. It had to be done.

He dropped the armload between them, forcing Clark to move his feet. Lex watched him stare down at the pile (Lex tried not to see the bent corners and twisted covers) as though it were a rejected offering. He looked a little sick, and Lex felt it like sympathy. He saw his own work in the mess at their feet. His life. Clark's, but his also.

He knew that Clark's eyes saw the finality in the gesture. And he was devastated, right *there* just like that, on the spot. Clark had lived a life of hope where Lex had lived a vortex slow and constant. 

Lex had--convinced him.

"I've always loved you," Lex said flatly. "Do you believe me?"

Clark's bowed head nodded slightly. "Yes." He took a deep, fortifying breath and looked up. His eyes were full of tears. "Thanks."

And Lex reached out and his hands were not gentle on Clark's shoulders but he pulled himself up to him and...held on.

Lex wasn't sure where the nerve came from, but he only knew for sure he never would have been prompted by what he needed or desired for himself. It was just that Clark had proven himself and deserved recompense, or that he still wanted to believe faith was it's own reward. Someday he could prove himself and maybe he would rely on Clark's belief until then.

Clark's arms were hesitant around him. Accepting, as usual, whatever he could give. "Clark." His voice was broken. He listened to it as though outside of himself. Maybe he never wanted it, but he would have been disappointed had he gotten to the end of his life without breaking down. It was another sort of miracle. "I..."

And Clark held him tighter. Lex stretched up and pressed himself into him, resting his chin in the crook of Clark's neck. Clark swallowed.

It was the only thing he could think of. "I have a room I want to show you."

"Yeah?"

Lex clutched at the straining muscles in Clark's back. He stopped himself from speaking several times before he managed, "My budget is bigger than yours."

*

Lex spent quality time, while in Belle Reve, contemplating the ceilings. He never found it very tolerably interesting. Since then, or since he uncovered most of the gory facts obliterated by the shock therapy, he's forced away all moments of solitude and insomnia. He does not like ceilings. They remind him of eerie, disjointed moments. Still, here he is again. The ceiling over his bed is dull and one-dimensional. He should have it changed. It makes him feel like he could get lost there. In the ceiling. 

He *is* going crazy. Strangely, he kind of likes it. Clark shocked him back to noticing things like this. He suddenly knows the answers to several particularly difficult decisions awaiting him this Monday. How--unexpected.

If he moved his leg it would wrinkle the fan of paper on the bed beside him. Clark's collection was impressive by any scale; it was obvious a lot of work went into it. Lex read about himself all morning. Strangely it seemed like Clark had kept him all these years, neatly pasted into several scrapbooks, and just now Lex had to catch up on what he'd been doing. As though he had not seen himself while he was there.

Clark said the room was his, and he was going to live there. He'd been in there, locked behind all of Lex's lead-lined security, for hours. Since last night at 3:30. By now he's put together *all* of Lex's secrets. And all of his own, since they're the same ones.

Lex tensed when he heard Clark come into the room. It was strange to have him here in person, just walking about. And Clark was very good at making himself at home. That kind of behavior usually annoyed Lex. But so far today he was simply finding the difference fascinating.

"So," Clark said, standing over the bed. "I like the room. But can I have a bed?"

Lex smiled a little. "You're moving in?"

"I am," Clark said, narrowing his eyes. "And you can be as pissed as you want."

Lex smiled, feeling, for once in a very long time, like a conversation was casual. "For as long as I want?" He kicked Clark in the leg. "You can have a bed, but I don't expect you to stay in *there*. No outside access."

Clark shrugged. "Think about it. Me, sleeping in the middle of your obsession? You didn't even have to kill me and stuff me to get me there."

Lex grimaced. "I never expected you to joke about it."

"Your mistake," Clark returned loftily. He accepted their metamorphosis with such naturalness that he displayed no doubts, and Clark's infectious relief combined with his own sheer exhaustion was enough to distract Lex. By the time he stopped to question the change, innate cynicism would have worn down into pattern. Lex looked forward to it.

"You can use this bed," said Lex abruptly.

Clark's expression altered minutely. "Lex..." he said cautiously. "I, look, I'll always love you. Even if it doesn't involve sex. It isn't just, I mean I came to you that time because I thought that way you'd accept me being near you."

Lex's teeth clenched. Of course. "Are you telling me you don't desire me?"

Clark caved. "Okay, no, yeah, I want you. But I'm just sayin', I'll stay either way."

Lex swept his body with a gaze. Nobody sane would turn down that body, for one. And even insane people would want to keep Clark as close as humanly possible. "I want sex," he declared.

Clark bit his lip to hide an instant grin. "'Kay," he conceded, graciously accommodating.

*

Lex timed his last swallow of coffee to the end of the article in the morning paper. He was still on schedule, and in 5 minutes he would be available for the opening of the stock exchange. He also needed to read a court transcript before his 9 o'clock appointment.

He tossed back his last just-warm drink and put the cup down without lowering the paper. He had a moment to skim the comics.

When he reached for them, however, he noticed he had a full mug. He stopped and looked up at Clark, who was grinning at him: bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and smiling in a manner only perky people could possibly appreciate. Fortunately, he didn't speak. So Lex just smiled a little and picked up his fresh coffee. He could spare a little time for once, he supposed.

"Hey, Mercy!" Clark said brightly. Lex raised his eyebrows at the woman surveying the kitchen from the doorway. Her face remained expressionless, taking in Clark's casual stance and then moving to meet Lex's gaze. He picked up a fresh section of the newspaper and left her to figure it out. There was really no explaining what was happening here.

He drank some of his orange juice and she joined them in the room. Clark stepped into her path and raised one finger. She stopped, waited calmly. "I'll be sticking around this time," he stated with a great deal of confidence.

She gestured with one shoulder, and it should have been a pessimistic look she was wearing but instead she looked--resigned. Maybe a little bored, also. Lex smiled to himself. Clark picked up on it and added lightly, "But that doesn't mean you'll have to drop the surveillance, if you don't want to. Hope's actually beginning to grow on me."

Mercy crooked one eyebrow. When she'd interviewed for a job as a bodyguard, Lex had personally hired her for the ability to make that expression alone. Behind her, a member of his staff walked in bearing groceries. She set them on the counter before Clark and left without a word.

"Thank you, Mercy," Lex said quietly. He went back to his comics.

Clark started pulling milk and cereal out of the bag. "I have an interview at 11, which knowing this guy and how he gets around Lois, should be over by 11:30. Lois will want to do lunch then because once she gets back to the office there's no pulling her off the Internet. What are you doing today?"

"I'm not going to fill you in on my schedule."

Clark rolled his eyes. "That's fine. I'll find out everything myself eventually anyway. I just thought you could tell me what *kind* of thing you'll be doing."

Lex checked the kitchen out of the corner of his eye to be sure that Mercy was gone. "What did you tell Lois last weekend?"

Clark gave him a knowing, assessing look. "What did you guess?"

Lex paused; let his eyes do the talking. "I thought it involved something with the storm cellar. Why else do you think I went there?"

"She knows...a lot," Clark admitted slowly. "But she--she's a friend. She won't presume, and she won't tell anybody."

"You slept with her," Lex remarked casually.

Clark's brow creased. "I've slept with a lot of people." His forehead cleared, then furrowed again in thought. "I go a little crazy doing what I do."

Lex shivered.

"I hate my vices even as I indulge in them," Clark said in an undertone, considering Lex seriously. "All I ever wanted was you."

Lex pursed his lips. "You don't have to keep reassuring me like a silly woman."

"I can say it all I want," Clark retorted. "You can't stop me."

Lex lunged for the other subject. "I'm not a vice? How about the obsession? What about the room?"

Clark caught his breath. "More like--focused passion. There's a purpose there. I took a red pen to your files, by the way." His tone changed abruptly.

"You did *what*?"

Clark smiled. "There were a few mistakes." He stopped.

Lex listened. "Okay," he finally said, planning to spend some time in his room as soon as possible. He realized slowly that Clark would be--there--with him. In the flesh. It turned him on. He straightened.

"We're going to be late," Clark said.

Lex glanced at the clock. "Yes."

Clark took a swig of milk and approached Lex. Lex watched him warily. He just bent his head and kissed the side of his mouth. "Call me if you're home before I am," he murmured. "I'll come running," he promised, straightening.

Lex couldn't help smirking slightly at that. Then he shook his head. "Clark, do you want me to get rid of the room?" If he had to choose between Clark and his obsession with Clark...

"No," he replied instantly. "I kinda like it. But, listen--" He stepped back and started tying his tie. "Could I have a room for my 'you' stuff?"

Lex smiled. "We're one fucked up couple," he stated.

Clark lifted his head and grinned, charmingly. "It's the couple part that matters to me."

Lex shrugged. "And what about..."

Clark came toward him again, stopped him with a quick kiss. "I'll tell you anything you want to know. But maybe you shouldn't ask." He gave him an intense look. Lex slid his fingers into the waist of his pants and kissed his tightly shut lips. Lex, after all, liked to figure things out his own way. He valued knowledge found, not given.

Lex let Clark step back, and ran his thumb across the corner of Clark's mouth across the residue from their kiss. Clark gave him a familiar look and his eyes gleamed as he watched Lex lick his thumb. "I'll be around," he meant. And for once Lex understood what he was saying.


End file.
